Bandwagon
by nomadic725
Summary: The Impala gets commandeered by a two man band headed to New Orleans. However, the boys have car trouble during the rescue mission.
1. Chapter 1: Headfirst Dive into Yellfest

Oh crap. It's Monday.

This is the thought that starts out every single Monday in the life of Dean Winchester. Similar thoughts also start out all other days that end in a "y".

Sam was still out cold on his bed. Figures.

The brothers had just finished a case in Angie, Louisiana, involving a ghost that haunted soup kitchens. It was obvious that all the good places to haunt were already taken. Considering that they could only find a grand total of one hotel in the entire city, they were stuck with the Great Southern Motel.

The Motel had spiders in the showers, mold in the grout, and a pervert as a manager, who Dean could have sworn opened their room's door in the middle of the night and looked in. The people inhabiting it looked as though they belonged in the mafia. The sheets were either covered in barbecue sauce or blood. Dean hoped it wasn't the latter.

So, understandably, Dean couldn't wait to escape this grease pit. He hiked his way out to his car on his way to breakfast.

No car.

He looked around again.

Still no Impala.

Strings of words not to be written down spilled from his lips. He kicked the siding of the motel and strode back into the room, slamming the door behind him. This tore Sam from sleep.

"Wha—is this a fight?" he asked groggily as he began to sluggishly reach for his gun.

"The Impala's gone! ******* ******* stole my ******* car!" Again, words not to be written down.

Sam trudged toward the window and looked out at the glorious view of the parking lot. No car.

"Crap."

"You think?"

"Dean, look, we'll file a report. We'll get her back."

Dean had begun pacing. He usually doesn't pace. This is a bad sign. If Dean strays from his way, that can only mean one thing.

"I'm losing it, Sammy! They could be halfway across the country by now!"

There was a sharp rap on the door. It was in a series of scrapes and pounds.

Sam held Dean back, probably afraid that he might murder whoever was out there, and answered the door himself. It was a little boy dressed up like a cub scout.

He kept knocking on the door even though it was opened, continuing with his strange little patterns. When he was finished, he turned and pulled his head up so he could look into Sam's eyes, which were many feet above his. He grinned.

"Uh, yes?" Sam asked.

"Oh, good! How many?"

"Huh?"

"I just asked you if you wanted to buy cookies and you said yes," the Cub Scout said, confused.

The Scout smiled proudly and pointed to a badge on his sash. "I just got my Morse Code badge last week."

Dean pushed his way in front of Sam.

"Look kid. First of all, Cub Scouts shouldn't sell cookies. That's a girl thing. Leave that to the Girl Scouts. Secondly, what idiot sells cookies at a hotel?"

The kid's lip trembled.

"Dean," Sam warned in his 'have a heart' voice.

Sam turned to the kid, elbowing Dean back into the room in the process.

"My brother's had a rough day. What's your name?"

"Gavin."

"Well Gavin, we already bought cookies were we live," Sam lied smoothly. "Thanks anyway though."

Gavin peered into the room at Dean. "I like the big one much better than you."

The little Cub Scout turned on his heel and left.

Sam shut the door. Dean was mimicking Gavin silently.


	2. Chapter 2: One of Those Days

Sometimes you know that it's just going to be one of those days. Your Impala's gone, you got told off by a Cub Scout, the sausages you are eating keep getting lodged in your throat because they taste like they are made of plastic, and it's only Monday.

"We need…..rental….temporarily…..get….we'll…..Impala…..back."

Dean was drastically trying to tune Sam out. He didn't want to even think about driving any other car while his was alone in the world. The people who took her were probably mistreating her. No…please…no…don't scratch the paint…

"Dean!"

Dean was jerked out of his trance.

"We need a rental, just temporarily."

"Do whatever you think is best, Sammy."

Sam stood up and left Dean with his plastic sausages. His heart sank. He would have to drive some piece of junk and for how long? Maybe forever if he couldn't get the Impala back.

He tried in vain again to stab a sausage. The fork slid off the sausage as though the meat was some kind of smooth, indestructible metal.

It probably was.


	3. Chapter 3: The Botox Twins

Sam gathered up his courage and entered the rickety car rental building. A toothless, cross-eyed man smiled at him from a rocking chair. A woman who looked like she shot a galleon of Botox into her lips batted her eyes.

It wasn't the people that scared him though. He had plenty of weapons on him. What had him flipping out was the building. It looked like it was about to fall down on him any minute.

Sam looked around for help. No one was behind the counter.

The woman with the Botox strode up to him. "What can I do for you?" her lips were so big, that the effort of talking had made her begin to drool.

"Yeah, what can we do for you?" came a voice behind him. Sam whirled around, not used to being taken by surprise. It was Botox woman again. Sam looked back to the desk. Then behind him again. Two Botox women.

"This is my twin sister Clarice," said the women behind the counter. Clarice batted her eyes at him. Sam shot her a nervous smile.

"Nice to meet you."

"Such manners!" said Clarice.

"I'm Clariline," Botox woman from behind the counter introduced.

Sam and Clariline repeated the conversation he had with Clarice.

"So you need a car, do you? Or something else?" They said in perfect unison. Then they batted their eyes in perfect unison. Oh, wow. Creepy.

Sam gulped then summoned his courage. Ghosts, ghouls, werewolves, vampires, all stuff Sam could handle.

Creepy Botox twins? Not so much.

Sam got through the sales talk by pretending that they were just Windigos or something. Then, they took Sam out back to a parking lot full of scrap metal.

It took Sam a moment to realize that the scrap metal were cars.

"We usually rent them out for about a hundred a day…" Clarice began.

A hundred? They looked worth about five cents.

"But we are always ready to cut a bargain for such a handsome man," Clariline finished.

"How much?"

The twins smiled.


	4. Chapter 4: Appointment at the Hair Salon

Dean stepped out of the diner. The sausages were a hopeless cause. He just left them, figuring he wanted to live long enough to have good sausages rather than to not waste four bucks. He wondered what un-Impala mobile Sam was bringing to the hotel.

Just then, the familiar purr of a familiar engine met his ears. His head turned just in time to see a black Impala wiz past him. The windows were cranked down, and the excited whoops of two men rang out.

"That's my car!" Dean bellowed, running after them in vain.

The Impala hit a bump in the road at top speed, and was airborne for a few seconds. Dean's eyes widened as he ran. If they were doing stuff like _that_ the Impala would be ruined!

They turned a corner and were out of sight. Once Dean reached the place where he had last seen them, they were gone.

Dean cussed.

An elderly balding man who was carrying a paper bag full of hair growing/styling products wrapped his arm around a white haired woman who could only be his wife.

"Don't be using that language around us clean cut folks!" the man yelled.

Had he heard some of the scarecrows that hung around the hotel? How is that man alive? If he had said that to one of the bikers….

"Everybody uses this language," Dean defended. "It's American."

"I'll tell you what's American, sunny. I was in the wars. American is spirit. This spirit has nothing to do with language."

"Well, then obviously the 'American Spirit' doesn't care what damn language I use!"

"Watch your tongue, boy."

"Or what? What will you do?" Dean demanded.

That must have been it. The man released his wife and hobbled over to Dean.

"This."

He whipped out some mouse and squirted it in Dean's face before Dean could even step back. The old guy was fast.

Then he whipped out some hairspray with super speed and sprayed him.

"Ahh!" Dean muttered covering his eyes. Hairspray _stings._ Who would have thought? People should start carrying that instead of mace. It would be more effective.

"Oh, come now you baby! I get hairspray in my eyes all the time," the man's wife called from where she stood across the street. "Get him, Greg!"

Dean was covering his eyes, so he didn't see the family size bottle of shampoo doing forty towards his head.

"OWWWW!"

"There. I hoped you learned a lesson."

With that, the couple strode off leaving Dean in the middle of the street.

Dean lumbered back to the hotel.


	5. Chapter 5: The Winchestermobile II

Dean heard the door open and then close.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah." Sam came into view. His eyes widened then went confused. "What happened to you?"

"Is it bad?" Dean asked.

"Look in the mirror."

"I didn't want to look in the mirror. Do I want to look in the mirror?"

Sam paused for a beat. "Not really."

"Great."

"What…?"

"I was jumped by a few of those bikers coming back in. I think they wanted money. They won't come jumping me again," Dean lied with a small fake chuckle.

"Then why is there foam all over your face? And why do you smell like hairspray?"

Crap. Dean forgot about that.

"Anyway, I got a car," Sam said. Dean was thankful for the change in subject.

Dean went into the bathroom to get a towel to wipe off the mouse. He accidentally looked in the mirror and sucked in some air loudly.

"Dean? You okay?"

"Yeah, fine. What kind of car?"

"I don't really know."

Dean heard Sam shift some stuff around the rickety little desk in the corner of the room. The desk was covered in initials, bad jokes, and dates.

"What do you mean you don't know? It should say it right on the back of the car."

"Not anymore."

Well. This doesn't sound good, does it?

After Dean had cleaned off his face, Sam strode out to the new Winchestermobile II with Dean in tow.

"This is it?" Dean asked in horror.

The back was smashed in. The front was smashed in. The sides were smashed in. Dean thought the car maybe was once blue, but now was faded into an unidentifiable colour.

"Are you sure this thing is even a car?" Dean demanded.

"Trust me. This was the best one they had."

"Does it run?"

Sam hesitated. "Sometimes."

"Well great! This is just great!"

Sam got into the passenger side and Dean reluctantly followed his lead. There was a small back seat. The seats were made of faded leather and there were more holes than actual material. Gum was stuck to things with hair and paperclips stuck to the gum. There were lipstick stains and decade old French fries. Some ancient lucky dice seemed to stare Dean down from where they hung on the rearview mirror.

The brothers were quiet for a minute. No one moved. I'm not sure that either of them even breathed.

"Sam—"

Sam slunk down in his seat, bracing for the blow.

"Thank you for getting us a car."

Remember at the beginning when I said that if Dean strays from his Deanish way, then he's probably losing it? Yeah.

"Uh, Dean?"

"Yes, Sammy?"

"If you want to drive this off a cliff, I totally understand."

"Thank you, Sammy."


	6. Chapter 6: Manager Menace

"Dad would want us to be out there, fighting these things!"

"I'm not leaving until we get the Impala back."

This brings us to why the Winchesters stayed the night at the glamorous Great Southern Motel. The maids had forgotten their room today, so every little mess that you shouldn't have to worry about when you are in a hotel was still there. Such as the glob of toothpaste spit that Dean had missed the sink with. Sam came down to the front desk to ask for service. Dean told him to forget about it, but he wanted to make sure they got maid service tomorrow in case they had to stay another day.

The police report was filed. The cop they talked to didn't look too concerned about anything but his canoli, though.

"What can I do for you?" The manager asked. Dean told Sam to watch out for the manager. He said he was a pervert. Now, with that eerie smile, Sam was starting to believe it.

Sam whirled around to make sure that the creepy manager didn't have a twin. Nope. No twin. Whew.

"My brother and I were just concerned because we didn't receive maid service today."

"Oh, our apologies! Let me make it right!"

Sam flinched as the manager's smile grew.

Back in the room, Dean had just stepped out of the shower. A bruise was starting to form on his left eye from the shampoo bottle that impacted his face. He started toward his clothes, which were laid out on his bed, and the door swung open.

"Sam, I'm getting—"

Dean froze when he didn't see Sam at the door. Instead, he saw the manager with his eerie smile. The manager's eyes widened.

"Dude, you're _sick_, man!" Dean grabbed his clothes and hurried off into the bathroom. When he came back dressed, the manager was cleaning and Sam was sitting in a chair awkwardly. He looked like he had downed a lemon.

"Did you let him in here?" Dean demanded.

"Dean—"

"Sammy—"

"Oh, Sammy. I like that name," the manager chimed in, looking up from folding sheets.

Sometimes, silence is best. This is one of those times. Dean sat in the chair opposite of Sam and shot him death looks until the manager sang "All done! Call me if you need anything Dean…Sammy" and left.

"Dean—" Sam began.

"Look. Nevermind. Just, let's find the Impala so we can get out of here."

Dean flicked off the lights. That was it. End of discussion.


	7. Chapter 7: Hot Glue and Flaming Tar

"SAMMY! I FOUND HER! LET'S GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

Sam snorted awake. Huh? Now what? Ninja attack? Alien abduction? Spy chase? Whatever it is, couldn't it wait a few minutes?

Sam reluctantly sat up and rubbed his eyes.

Dean wasn't there. Confused, stood up and almost fell back down.

"SAMMY, YOU THERE? LOOK, IM NOT GOING TO LEAVE HER SIDE UNTIL YOU GET HERE, OKAY?"

Sam took a moment to process where the voice was coming from. The answering machine. Sam picked up the phone.

"Where are you?"

"Took you long enough! I'm at, uh, a corner, by a market called Whole Foods…"

"Okay."

Sam hung up. Ten minutes later, he stood dressed and packed in front of Dean and the Impala. He couldn't get the Winchestermobile II to start so he came on foot.

Dean's black eye was huge now.

"Is this where you found it?" Sam asked.

"Yup. I wanted the keys to drive her though. I didn't want to do more hot wiring to her."

Sam handed over the keys. "We better drive the Winchestermobile II back to the car rental place."

When they reached the hotel parking lot, they found it swarmed by firemen.

"Hey, what happened?" Dean asked a biker.

"Some sap's car caught on fire. Oh, dude! What happened to your eye?"

Dean ignored the eye question. "Great. How are we going to get our car out of there?" Dean asked Sam.

"We won't."

Dean paused for a beat. "What do you mean, we won't?"

"You see that black burn mark on the pavement?" Sam asked.

"Uh yeah…?"

"That's the car."

Silence.

"Well, whoever did it did the world a favor if you ask me."

With that, the brothers returned to the Impala. Well, technically, they returned to where to Impala was. There was a little note left in the parking spot, held down by a rock.

_Thanks for letting us borrow your car, dude. It's totally rad. We weren't done with it though. We are planning on driving it to New Orleans, you see. Chicks dig the oldies. _

_-Famous and Amos_

"Famous and Amos?" Sam asked.

"Sammy, we're going to New Orleans."

"You and what car?"

"Good point."

This brings Sam back to the car rental hovel. Only this time, he had Dean in tow.

"Yum. You didn't tell us that you had a brother," the twins said in unison. "Have you come to bring us back our car?"

Dean and Sam said stuff in unison before. Somehow, it was never this creepy.

"Actually, my brother wants a separate car," Sam lied. He figured it was best not to tell them that their car is being scraped of the pavement at the moment. Also, he was being ripped off for just _renting_ one of these pieces of scrap metal. He didn't want to know how much they would charge for the car.

"Well, we have one similar to the one that Sam got, though Sam did get our little 'diamond in the ruff,'" Clarice told them.

Dean shot Sam a look that said an entire sentence. 'Maybe this is a bad idea if that thing was their diamond in the ruff.'

Sam shot him back a look. 'Where else can we get a car?'

'Steal one?'

'Dean!'

"Are we interrupting something?" Clariline asked.

"No, no, just show us your best car," said Sam.

They were taken out back again into the junkyard of cars that have seen many better days. The Botox twins strode up to a car that might have once been green, but then again, maybe blue, red, or even yellow.

"She's our best here," Clariline told us proudly. She patted the car and the side mirror fell off.

"Nothing a little hot glue won't fix," Clarice told us.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. This was going to be the _longest_ road trip of their lives.


	8. Chapter 8: Fingers of Fury

"Can't you go any faster?" Sam demanded.

"I'm trying! This thing barely goes twenty!"

They were on the highway, so as you can imagine, they were getting the finger every few seconds.

The car lurched forward with an unexpected burst of speed.

"Woh, woh, WOH!"

The car had jumped to about sixty in about three seconds.

"Take your foot off the petal!" Sam yelled, gripping the seat.

"I'm not even _touching _the petal! My foot's on the hacking break!"

The car was still accelerating.

"Take your foot off the break!"

"Are you insane?"

Dean did as Sam said anyway. The car died and rolled over, front first. It made a complete roll so the car landed upright again.

Dean and Sam exchanged looks. The car may be a piece of crap, but it was so tough that it didn't even crunch. The car was in the same condition it was in before. It made the brothers wonder what it took to beat the car up so much in the first place. For a moment, they just sat there in the middle of the highway, shocked.

This earned them about forty five more fingers.

Dean cranked over the engine. The car gave a spurt and died.

Okay, the car didn't come out completely unscratched.

"Do you smell something burning?" Dean asked. He looked around. The brothers began sniffing the air. They exited the vehicle.

Smoke was coming from the underside of the car.

"I think our tire's on fire," Dean said a little too calmly.

"Nah, it looks like the entire underside of the car is on fire," Sam replied.

Whatever amount of car was on fire, the car spurted into a high whistling noise. Then there was a loud crack. The brothers watched as the car was engulfed in flame.

"Uh, I'm going to walk away now," Dean murmured. He began walking down the side of the highway. Sam followed him.

"Hey Cas, now would be a good time to land your feathers down here," Dean told the sky.

Sam and Dean walked a few more paces. No Castiel. Crap.

"Looks like we're walking," Dean sighed.

A thunderclap pierced the sky. Dean felt a drop of water hit his face.

"Oh come on!"

After two hours of walking, they spotted a taxi and flagged it down. The taxi driver didn't look exactly thrilled to take in a sopping wet-leather-jacketed-biker-looking-guy and his equally sopping wet-sasquatch-like-giant-friend. But hey, money is money, right?

They had the taxi driver drop them off at a Best Western.

When they entered the lobby, they froze.

The manager from the Great Southern Motel stood behind the desk.

"Hello. How can I help you?" he said with the same eerie smile. He looked exactly like the manager from the Great Southern Motel, right down to the mole on his neck with exactly two hairs sticking out of it.

"Don't you…didn't you work at Great Southern?" Dean asked.

"Oh, you're probably thinking of my brother, silly. We're twins."

Dean and Sam exchanged looks. They could tell.

Darn. And Sam was so sure that he didn't have a twin. This has to make you wonder though. How many people that you are sure don't have twins, really don't have twins?

Sam and Dean booked a room. At least the rooms were about four stars better than the -2 of Great Southern.

When they fell asleep that night, Dean was on guard. If the manager even touched the handle, he'd have a hole in his head. That is, if he had a head left at all.

The two fell asleep fairly quickly. After all, watching two cars blow up, one of which rolled over, having your angel friend abandon you in the rain, and hiking through a thunderstorm is pretty darn exhausting.


	9. Chapter 9: He Really Takes the Taco

The next morning, Dean stumbled out into the parking lot. Then he remembered.

Oh yeah. No Impala. No Winchester mobile II or III.

Well, Sam can't rent a car for his life, so Dean decided he'd call a taxi to drive him to a car rental place. Woo. Fun.

The taxi man couldn't speak English, which led Dean to believe he may have been an illegal immigrant. Since the taxi driver didn't know what 'car rental' was, and Dean didn't know how to say it in Spanish, they went to about forty places before they got it right.

"CAR DEALERSHIP," Dean yelled, as if yelling would make him understand.

"Car dealership," the man repeated. He drove up to a Burger King.

"CAR DEALERSHIP!"

The taxi drove up to a random corn field.

"C-A-R D-E-A-L-E-R-S-H-I-P!"

Dean found himself in the parking lot of Victoria Secret.

"Do you know anyone who speaks English? Like someone you can call and consult about English?" Dean asked, annoyed.

"Consult," the taxi driver repeated. "Ah! Concesión!"

"Huh?"

So finally, Dean arrived at the car rental place.

Inside, Dean was happy to find no Botox twins, and that the cars weren't pieces of crap. They weren't Impalas but they would suffice better than the Winchestermobiles II and III.

Half an hour later, Dean was driving back to the Best Western in a silver Chevy Volt. He had left Sam a message that he went out to get a car.

Sam was waiting in the parking lot as he pulled in.

"I give to you the Winchester mobile IV!" Dean said. "May this be our last Winchestermobile."

"Hard to believe that we've gone through four cars in the past couple of days," Sam commented. Dean agreed. Regular cars just can't stand up to the Impala. Even though Dean has to count the Impala as one of the cars he has gone though, the Impala _did_ last the longest.

An hour later, they were on the road again.


	10. Chapter 10: Hell Just Froze Over

Dean and Sam reached New Orleans with minimal technical difficulties.

"Think there is a job for us here while we are out this way?" Dean pondered aloud.

"It's New Orleans. There's tons of stuff. There's no way to tell the real from the tourist traps, though," Sam explained.

Dean was silently relieved. He had enough to worry about with getting his Impala back from Famous and Amos. He wouldn't admit that he, for once, wasn't up to a job though.

Now, how in the heck would he find Famous and Amos in all this mass of city? He didn't even know what they looked like. Finding the Impala itself seemed to be the best bet.

Sam pointed out a suitable, historic looking hotel and Dean parked. Sam strode toward the lobby doors with Dean on his heels and checked them in.

They reached their room, which consisted of rundown redbrick walls, a crooked old painting, two prehistoric looking beds, and a lamp that didn't have a stand so it sat uselessly on the ground between the two beds.

Home sweet home, huh?

A couple of hours passed, in which the boys took showers and changed clothes. Then, Dean dragged Sam back to the Winchestermobile IV to go get food. Dean really wanted some pie.

After a bit of food hunting, they found a small diner which served regular food _and_ pie. It also seemed to have live music.

Every building in the entire city seemed to be made of redbrick. Huh.

A whiteboard in the front directed costumers to seat themselves. Within minutes, a woman in her forties who had brown hair teased up like she was twenty came to cater to them.

Sam ordered a salad. Dean ordered blueberry pie. I personally would go with Dean's choice.

_I told the witchdoctor I was in love with you! _Two men sang into the microphone with no recognizable talent. One was attempting cords at a guitar and the other would blow a note into his sax every now and again.

"How do you plan to find the Impala?" Sam asked.

_He sa—id OH! EE! OH AH AH! TING! TANG! WADAWADA BING BANG!_

"Well, it would obviously be easier to find the car rather than Famous and Amos," Sam continued.

The two man band now switched to "The Witch Queen of New Orleans."

_Marie Marie, la voo doo yeady! She'll put a spell on you!_

"Yeah. Hell will freeze over before we find the guys who took her. We don't even know what they look like, Sammy," Dean sighed.

The band ended their song.

"HERE'S A BIG GOOD NIGHT TO EVERYONE OUT THERE FROM FAMOUS AND AMOS! WE ARE BANDWAGON!" The taller of the two musicians yelled into the microphone.

Sam and Dean's heads snapped to attention.

"Hey, Dean? I'm pretty sure Hell just froze over," Sam commented.

"I'm going to shoot them. Well, maybe not. That's too messy. That rules out stabbing them too. I guess I'll just have to strangle them with my bare hands," Dean growled as he stood up from the booth and approached the stage. Sam followed. This was going to get ugly.

"So, you're Famous and Amos?" Dean asked the band.

"Yup. That's us. Call us Bandwagon. That's our band's name," the shorter of the two smiled pleasantly.

"You're the two dead men who screwed with my car!" Dean bellowed.

"You mean the Impala?" the taller asked. "That is one sweet ride. I'm Famous by the way. The little guy here is Amos."

Amos looked disgusted at being called 'little guy.'

Dean's face turned even a shade redder than it was before. He swung a punch and it landed on Famous's left cheek. Amos jumped into the fight. Sam stood back. He was not going to get involved in this one, right?

Somehow, Amos managed to shove his saxophone down Dean's throat. He was coughing and projectile spit was projectiling itself all over the place.

Suddenly, Castiel was there with his little appearing-randomly-at-the-strangest-time thing. He went to try to break up the dispute, but he was stopped in mid effort.

Cas sucked in some air loudly as a particularly large glob of spit bullseyed his eye. His hand flew to it and he began to wander around blindly, moaning.

Famous was back up. He took his guitar and started using it as a bat. It would have been a good idea, but he didn't take the time to check where he was swinging so he managed to take Amos out. After Amos, Cas got a face full of guitar strings. The only foe he didn't hit was the one he was going for.

Dean grabbed Famous's legs and took them down. They grappled on the ground for a few minutes, snarling and biting like messed up-angry-puppies.

By now, everyone left in the restaurant was staring with that moose-in-headlights look. They clearly had no clue what just happened.

"Put your hands where I can see them!" a few officers were assessing the situation. Dean could run, but then, chances are he wouldn't get the Impala back in time to get out of town safely. Famous, Amos, Dean, and Castiel slowly stood up and raised their hands in the air. Well, Cas didn't until Dean explained what seemed like the history of cop procedures.


	11. Chapter 11: Bang the Eardrums

This is how Dean found himself in the slammer.

He was a little fuzzy on how exactly he got from the restaurant to cop palace but he thought he may have tried to strangle Amos on the way in. Now he was locked in a holding cell along with Amos, Famous, and Cas. Famous and Amos were serenading with one another on Johnny Cash's 'Big River.'

_Now I taught the weeping willow how to cry, cry, cry. And I showed the clouds how to cover up a clear blue sky._

"They do realize that trees can't cry, correct?" Cas murmured. Dean ignored him. He wasn't in the mood to explain Earthly things to angels.

Famous and Amos were swaying in unison. _The tears I cried for that woman is going to flood you big river! Then I'm going to sit right here until I die._

Dean wished he still had his gun on him. Shooting those two would be a blessing to anyone's eardrums within a twenty mile radius. He leaned on the cell door and tried to tune them all out—the loud musician, the louder musician, and the hysteric angel.

"Dean! DEAN!"

"Huh?"

Dean didn't know how many times Castiel had been saying his name until he heard it. Cas was doing his little hovering thing where he stands uncomfortably close to Dean. Dean couldn't say he exactly liked it.

"I could break us out easily," Castiel repeated the words that Dean hadn't heard before.

"Nah. If we have the cops on our tail I won't be able to get my car back. Let's just wait for Sammy to come get us or bond us out or whatever he needs to do."

Castiel nodded, then threw a glance over at the still swaying Famous and Amos.

_Take that women on down to New Orleans, New Orleans! Go on! I've had enough; dump my blues down in the gulf. She loves you, big river, more than me._

Cas gave Dean a look. Dean gave Castiel a look. Both looks said the same thing. 'Can't you do something to shut them up?"

Castiel sighed. He fumbled on over to Bandwagon.

"Excuse me, _sirs,_" Cas began.

The Bandwagon kept on singing. _The tears I cried for that woman is going to flood you big river! Then I'm going to sit right here until I die._

"Uh, Famous and Amos?" Cas tried again.

_THEN I'M GOING TO SIT RIGHT HERE UNTIL I DIE!_ Yelled Famous. Castiel reared back in surprise.

_RIGHT HERE UNTIL I DIE!_ Echoed Amos.

_RIGHT HE—R—E UN-T-IL I !" _Bandwagon sang in unison.

Castiel just stood there, obviously unsure of what to make of them and of what to do. He looked befuddled in every sense of the word.

Dean moved silently but quickly and grabbed Amos's shoulder.

"What my friend here was trying to get through your thick skull—"

"You want some more of me?" Amos threatened, his eyes narrowed. Amos was an entire head and neck shorter than Castiel. And Castiel isn't exactly Sasquatch Sam.

The cop that was standing guard threw a warning glance into the cell. Dean released his hold on Amos.

"Where did you two take my car?" Dean demanded.

"Your car?" Famous asked. "No offense, but you're, like, not the guy that rented it to us."

Dean stood shock still for a beat. Wait, huh? _Rented?_

"What do you mean rented?" he demanded.

"Well, this dude, kinda short, redishly brown short hair, pale skin, he rented it to us," Amos said innocently.

Hmm. Who do the Winchesters know that is kinda short, has redishly brown short hair, pale skin, and is tricky enough to rent someone else's car out to people? It would have to be someone who didn't particularly like the Winchesters…

Oh. Yeah. Duh. Should have seen that one coming.

"Gabriel," Dean and Castiel said in unison.

"Did somebody say my name?" the cop standing guard turned and showed his true face to those inside.

"Yup. That's him," Amos commented nonchalantly.

"You're dead," Dean told Gabriel.

"Haven't we been through this before? It doesn't work. I guess I'm just not meant to be dead. How many times have you tried to kill me now? Two thousand and one? Two thousand and two? And how many times have you succeeded?" Gabriel looked down and his body and then back up at Dean. "Zip."

Why couldn't these angels just be holy and nice like they are supposed to?

Dean glared at Gabriel. Gabriel glared at Dean. Famous glared at Cas and Castiel glared at Gabriel. Amos glared at Dean and Famous shifted his glare to Gabriel. Cas shifted his own glare to Bandwagon and the two Bandwagon members glared at Cas. Dean shifted his glare from Gabriel to Sam.

Sam? Sam!

Gabriel saw his eyes dart away for a fraction of a second and whirled around, successfully seizing the stake that Sam was holding over his head.  
>The trickster laughed and took his leave. By taking his leave, I mean one minute he's there, then, BLINK! he's gone. Gone in a flutter of wing beats.<p>

"I'm going to kill him. I don't care if it's messy. I don't care if he's and angel. I'm going to hacking kill him. Cas, give me your little angel killing sword thingy."

"Dean, it's too dangerous," Cas said.

Dean blew out a sigh. "You realize what I do for a living, right?"


	12. Chapter 12: The Casual Approach

Dean, Sam, Famous, Amos and Cas hiked out to the police station's parking lot.

"Do you smell barbecue?" Amos asked Famous.

"Dude, yeah, I think I do."

As the mini mafia turned the corner of the building, they soon found out what the barbecue was.

"The Winchestermobile IV!" Dean tapped Sam and took off, sprinting toward the flaming car. Sam cantered after him. When they entered a ten foot radius, Dean held out his arm to stop Sam from coming any closer.

The thing was a fireball that would put the sun to shame.

The Bandwagon and Castiel had caught up with them by now.

"Dude," Bandwagon said in harmony.

Sam looked over at them. Famous and Amos had somehow produced sunglasses. They looked quite comfortable looking at the flaming mobile of doom while Sam and Dean shielded their eyes.

"Where'd you—" Dean began to ask where the sunglasses came from. Then he shut his mouth. He didn't really want to know.

"Well, we're going to be needing our car back," Sam tied the casual approach.

"Technically, it's ours until the end of the week. We have a signed contract," Amos told them. He held up a piece of paper that Bandwagon and Gabriel had signed.

Dean started muttering quick, unintelligible, unkind sounding words. All Sam caught was something about "ripping the wings off" and "deep frying in holy oil extra crispy."

"You think Gabriel did this?" Sam asked.

"Who else, Sammy?"

Good point. And it would just be Gabriel's style for car bombs, especially repetition of them.

"Looks like we're walking," Amos said coolly. He began to meander away. Famous followed him. Sam followed the Bandwagon. This left Dean and Cas, since Cas doesn't seem to leave Dean's side, staring at the bonfire in the middle of the parking lot.

"Just think, Cas. It only just turned Thursday," Dean patted Castiel on the shoulder. Cas raised his eyebrows.


	13. Chapter 13: Uncle Ren and Friends

If you expected Dean to be a nice, fair guy and let Bandwagon keep the Impala for the remainder of the rented week, you are sooo wrong, my friend.

The three heroes had followed Bandwagon across the city on foot until they came to a familiar sight—the Impala. Dean pushed Amos into Famous and giddily charged toward the car. He tried to open the door. Locked.

He tried again. Locked.

"Open it!" He commanded the Bandwagon.

Amos stuck his tongue out at Dean, but unlocked the car. He tried to get in, but Dean held him back and once again tried to charge into the car.

It was as though he ran straight into a brick wall. Dean looked around. He somehow had landed on his butt a few feet away from the Impala.

"Did you honestly think I would let you cheat these two fine young people?" Gabriel's voice came from behind them. All five of them whirled around.

"I knew you would try, so I had the contract that the Bandwagon and I hold magically enforced. Now, no one can enter the car except them," Gabriel's face broke into an evil grin of doom. Gabriel's evil grins of doom are never good.

Dean scrambled to his feet and lunged for the angel, but the angel was faster. He was gone in a flutter of wingbeats.

"That dude is far out," Amos commented casually.

"Yeah, totally," replied Famous.

Dean had forgotten about them. They saw Gabriel disappear twice now.

Evidentially, nothing fazes the great Bandwagon.

There was a short pause where no one spoke, which was broken by Famous.

"Later dudes."

The Bandwagon got in the Impala and drove off. Sam snuck a look at Dean. Dean had that deer-in-headlights look thing going on; complete with the agape mouth.

Sam moved closer to his stunned brother. He moved his hand in front of his face. No reaction. Sam sent off a pleading glance to Castiel, that clearly said, _well, do something, feathers!_

Castiel touched Dean's forehead with two fingers.

"He is in a state of extreme shock," Cas said.

Thank you, Sir Obvious.

"Should we…should we get him to a hospital?" Cas asked Sam.

"Nah. I'm sure he's okay. He probably knows everything we're saying. In fact—Cas! Behind you! Gabriel!"

Castiel whirled around. No Gabriel.

Dean suddenly sprung to life. "Gabriel? Where? I'm going to rip his little feathery wings off!"

"You just missed him, Dean," Sam lied smoothly.

"That sonofa—"

"But we have an _angel_ here," Sam gestured toward Castiel. "I'm sure Cas here knows exactly where to look for an angel."

"No I—" Cas started. Sam elbowed him in the ribs. Hard.

"Where to?" Dean demanded.

Castiel faltered. "Well…I..uh…"

"A church, of course," Sam completed for him. "Right Cas?"

"Oh..yes…of course…a church."

Sam nodded at him as if urging for him to continue.

"My..uh…angel _buddies_ and I…we always visited churches." Castiel was looking up down and everywhere around. Cas sucked at lying. And it was Sam's personal experience to know that when he sucked at something, Castiel sucked _bad._

It was around eight A.M. when the trio entered the church. Another all-nighter. This didn't bother Castiel because he didn't sleep. This didn't bother Dean because he was determined to fry a certain angel's wings. This bothered Sam because he just wanted to go back to the hotel and sleep until the week was up and they could get the Impala back. A week's not that big of a deal, so Dean should just let this one go, right?

The church was old, rundown, and spooky. As soon as Dean Winchester stepped onto the stone floor of the church, he tripped over something furry, big, and impossible to move.

The cat gave a yowl that would put a screaming girl in a horror movie to shame. Dean screamed too. Cas looked nervous. Sam yawned.

"Uncle Ren!" a little boy cried. He flew out of nowhere and wrapped his arms around the scrawny gray cat. The boy had to be around ten.

"Uncle Ren?" Dean murmured, dazed.

"Yeah. He's my uncle. He was turned into a cat about a month ago by our neighbor," the boy explained nonchalantly. "Hey, what happened to your eye? Was it a fight?"

"You could call it that," Dean murmured. No one had said anything about his black eye for a while. He was irritated that his streak was broken.

The trio exchanged looks. None of them knew of anything that could change someone into a cat, and being as they dealt with this kind of stuff daily, they were pretty sure that the kid was a few cheerios short of a bowl.

"So you think this…cat…is your uncle?" Dean questioned.

The boy looked stunned. "Didn't you listen to me at all? I _know _he's my uncle!"

Oh, well….okay.

"Uh, have you seen a guy come through here? Kinda short for a man, reddishly brown hair?" Sam spoke up.

"No one's been through here all day except for you guys and my uncle," the boy gestured toward the cat. "I'm Guyson, the priest's son."

"Good to meet you, Guyson," Sam smiled. Dean glared at him with a smidge of jealousy at his good people skills. "I'm Sam. This is my brother Dean. And this is our friend, Castiel."

Castiel was staring down the cat.

"Uh, do you know any other churches nearby?" Sam continued, ignoring Castiel's weird behavior.

"That cat is not normal," Cas suddenly proclaimed.

"Yeah. That's because he's my uncle," Guyson said casually. "You could try First Baptist."

Sam had been hoping that there weren't any more churches nearby. He only said the church thing to keep Dean from going into cardiac arrest. He knew Gabriel wouldn't be hanging around a church.

The little mafia exited the church with an extra, unknown stowaway on their tail.

Dean lead the way to First Baptist. Uncle Ren followed at a distance, his tail twitching.


	14. Chapter 14: Castiel meets Auto Vessels

They had checked a ton of churches—Sam had lost count at twenty two—before the boys meandered back to the hotel at about four P.M. Sam crashed, thankful for bedding. Dean paced. Castiel sat very, very still in a chair and thought.

"Well, if you won't be needing me anymore—" Cas began to stand up.

"If you try to leave, I will hunt you down and drag you by your wings back here," Dean threatened.

If Cas knew Dean, and he did, he knew that Dean doesn't make empty threats. He sat back down slowly in defeat.

Dean started to pace again for a while. He stopped, grabbed a beer from the mini fridge, then began pacing again as he drank.

"I _hate _this! I should be doing something," Dean muttered angrily.

"Why don't you get a car so we don't have to walk everywhere?" Castiel suggested.

Half an hour later, they were in front of the newest car rental place. Dean groaned. He was getting sick of car rental places.

"How can I help you?" a friendly salesperson came over and tried to hypnotize the two to buy something expensive with his smile.

"We need an automotive vessel of transportation urgently," Cas told him.

His smile faltered a little, "Oh, uh…okay..."

Dean sighed. Note to self: _never_ take Castiel shopping of any kind ever again.

"What are your rates?" Dean asked, elbowing Castiel gently behind him. The salesman regained his smile when he realized he would be negotiating with a sane human being that was actually somewhat normal sounding rather than his somewhat scary friend.

An hour later, the Dynamic Duo drove back to the hotel in a black Chevrolet Camaro. It was around six when they pulled in.

Dean was still chuckling to himself over Castiel and the salesman's conversation. As he was picking out the car he wanted, he overheard them talking.

_ "So, what do you do for a living?" the salesman asked._

_ "I'm an angel of the Lord."_

_ "Oh."_

_ Dean remembered shaking with silent laughter. Then he remembered what happened when the salesman tried again._

_ "So, uh, are you an actor? Do you play the part of an angel?"_

_ "No."_

_ There was silence for another beat. The salesman swallowed and tried for a last time._

_ "Nice weather we're having."_

_ "Did you feel that?"_

_ "What?" the salesman asked, interested._

_ "That earthquake in Ecuador just now."_

_ The salesman swallowed, directed his gaze straightforward to avoid Castiel, and ignored him completely from there on._

Snickering to himself, Dean pushed open the door. Sam was still passed out on his bed. How could he sleep at a time like this?

Dean slipped silently over to Sam. He lowered his mouth to his ear.

"SAMMY!" he bellowed.

"WHA!" Sam jumped and fell completely off the bed. He lay spread-eagle at Dean's feet, stunned.

"Good to know that there isn't the slightest chance of you getting overtaken while you're asleep," Dean chuckled.

Sam seemed to process what just happened.

"Well, I wouldn't be sleeping at—" Sam glanced at the digital alarm clock that was lying on the floor next to the lamp, "six sixteen if you didn't get yourself arrested, got cornered by Gabriel, got our Winchestermobile IV blown up, and had me running around to every church in the city!"

"Speaking of Winchestermobiles, we have a Winchestermobile V now."

"And you think it is safe from Gabriel, why exactly?" Sam questioned.

"Oh, trust me, I _know_ it's not safe from Gabriel. But once he blows up this one, I will be even _more _motivated to barbecue myself some wings."

A paper airplane flew through the open window. Dean caught it and unfolded it. He read it aloud.

_I won't blow up this car, promise! Trickster's honor._

"Tricksters have honor?" Sam wondered aloud.

Another paper airplane flew through the window.

_Yes, wise guy._

Dean ran to the window, but when he looked out, he couldn't locate the trickster anywhere on the streets.

"Dude, he's not the trickster for nothing," Sam told Dean.

Castiel, who had been silent the entire time, suddenly spoke. "We're being watched."


	15. Chapter 15: The Return of Ren

Whoa, Chapter fifteen already? And the story isn't near over!

The boys formed a tight, military like formation. They faced the window. Sam drew a gun, Dean a knife, and Cas had his angel-killing-sword-thingy firmly gripped in his right hand.

They slowly approached the window silently. The intensity in the air multiplied like rabbits. And for the record, rabbits multiply crazy-fast.

Castiel shot the boys a look. The three had become increasingly good at reading each other's looks. Cas's said _I'll go. _

_ Okay, go ahead._

_ Yeah. 'Luck Cas._

Cas stuck his head out of the window. The Winchesters heard him suck in some air and then…

"AHHHH!"

Sam and Dean had never heard Castiel scream before. In fact, once it was over, the two weren't even sure that they had heard it. Castiel reared back from the window opening, only he had a passenger riding shotgun with him.

"Get it off, get it off!" Cas was waving his hands frantically in the air. The brothers had never seen him act like this. Sitting atop his head in complete calmness was Uncle Ren.

"Ah okay, hold on!" Sam yelled.

He tried to make a go for the cat, but Castiel was flapping his limbs all over the place so he couldn't even get close.

"Hold on, Cas!" Dean yelled, whipping out a gun.

"Wait, Dean, you can't—" Sam started.

Dean fired off a round. The cat dodged the bullet like a ninja.

"Sonova—"

Dean fired off three more rounds. None hit the cat, but one almost took Castiel's head off.

"DEAN!" Castiel screeched.

Sam joined in on the yellfest. "STOP SHOOTING YOU IDIOT!"

"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!" Dean screamed back at them. He went into the mini fridge and grabbed a bottle of wine. "HOLD STILL, CAS!" Dean chucked the bottle of the cat.

Cas saw the bottle doing fifty toward his head. Then the world went black for him.


	16. Chapter 16: Remember Your Seatbelt

"I can't believe you knocked out an angel!"

"I thought it would work."

"How could you think that throwing a hacking _wine bottle_ at a _cat_ that was on Cas's _head _would possibly work?"

"I don't know. It was one of those moments where you are caught by surprise so you just don't know what to do."

"You're caught by surprise almost every day of your life and you handle it fine."

There was a short pause where Dean processed this statement. "Good point."

Castiel slowly opened his eyes. Sam, Dean, and the cat were all leaning over him. He rubbed his head where the bottle impacted—his right temple.

Castiel stood up, glared at the cat, got dizzy, and lay back down. He wouldn't mind shipping that Uncle Ren off to a country where they eat feline for breakfast.

Cas lifted his head off the ground a few inches and looked at Dean. "I just got hit in the head by a bottle…."

Dean and Cas kept looking at each other. Dean gestured for him to go on.

"Well, I just got hit in the head by a bottle….may I leave now?"

Dean looked to Sam, to the cat, then back to Cas. "Are you insane? You can't even stand! No way are we letting you fly in your condition."

Castiel grunted and thunked his head back onto the floor.

"Your welcome," Dean told him.

"Meow," the cat said. "Meow mew mew meow meow!"

Three heads turned to stare down the cat.

"Mrrrow mew?"

"I don't like that cat," Castiel commented.

"Me either," Dean replied. "Gives me the creeps."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

The cat hissed.

"Back at 'ya," Dean told him.

"Anyone else hungry?" Sam asked.

Ten minutes later, Sam, Dean, and Uncle Ren were hiking out to the Winchestermobile V. Castiel still couldn't stand due to Dean's little mishap so he stayed in the room. Dean, of course, made him promise not to try to sneak off and leave. Dean slipped into the driver's seat. Sam opened the passenger side door but the cat hopped up onto the seat before he could sit down.

"Oh, no, little guy," Sam said, gently pushing him off.

The cat didn't budge. It was like Ren somehow grew roots and rooted himself down onto the seat.

"Come on," Sam grunted, pushing harder. Let the records show that moving Uncle Ren is harder than moving a sidewalk with your bare hands.

Sam ran to the trunk and got a crowbar. He shoved it under the cat and attempted in vain to push him up.

"HHHHSSSSTTTT!" The cat hissed.

"AHHH!" Sam reared back. The crowbar fell to the pavement. That cat could be _scary_. And Sam fights _ghosts._

In the end, Sam ended up with the backseat.

Dean started the car.

"MRRROOWWW!" the car wailed.

"What now?" Dean demanded, turning to the cat.

The cat looked from Dean, to the seatbelt, back to Dean.

"You can't be serious," Dean told the cat.

"Mrow."

Dean sighed and buckled the cat in. Then they drove off in search of food. After about ten minutes of searching and debating, they settled on a cheap French restaurant.

"I've always wanted to try French food," Sam had told Dean. That is why they chose it.

Uncle Ren followed them into the restaurant.

"Why are you even here?" Dean demanded. "You come out of nowhere, attack our friend, call shotgun in our car, and now are eating with us. Why aren't you with your, um, nephew or owner or whatever Guyson is?"

"Mrow meow mew mew mew mrrrow," The cat replied causally.

"Do you think he actually knows what we're saying?" Sam asked.

"Mrow."

Dean looked from Sam to the cat then back to Sam. "Yeah."

"Creepy."

"Tell me about it."

The boys and cat ate their fill and brought a box back in case Cas wanted anything. Dean wasn't even sure that Castiel ate stuff, but better be prepared, right?

They reached their hotel room. They had left Castiel on the bed. Now, the room was vacant.

"That idiot," Dean mumbled. "He probably accidentally crash landed in New Mexico or something."

Sam closed the distance between the door and the bed in a few long strides.

"Dean, come look at this," Sam demanded. Dean heard the urgency in Sam's voice and obeyed.

Sam had plucked something off the bed—it was long, beautifully shaped, shiny, soft and perfect in every way—a black feather.


	17. Chapter 17: Saltguns and Handgranades

_About five minutes earlier…_

_ "Gabriel!" Castiel exclaimed as he appeared in the hotel room. Castiel had just regained the ability to stand up since Dean's bright idea. He strolled over to Gabriel and looked him in the eye._

_ "Hey bro."_

_ Cas narrowed his eyes."Why are you here?"_

_ "To do this," the trickster told him. He snapped his fingers. Nothing seemed to happen, but what did Castiel know?_

_ "What did you do?"_

_ The trickster laughed and disappeared._

_ Seconds later, Sam, Dean, and Uncle Ren swarmed the room like S.W.A.T. They completely ignored Castiel._

_ "Hello to you too," Castiel murmured._

_ Dean didn't respond. He instead spoke to Sam. _

_ "That idiot. He probably accidentally crash landed in New Mexico or something."_

_ Huh? Was he talking about Castiel?_

_ "Dean, I'm right here," Cas said. No response._

_ Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. What did Gabriel do now?_

_Castiel moved his hand in front of Dean's face. No reaction whatsoever. _

_Sam crossed the floor to the bed and picked up a feather. His feather. "Dean, come look at this."_

_ Well crap. Cas knew he should have stayed away from New Orleans. This whole ordeal had him malting._

And now in the present…

Castiel thought hard. How could he get the Winchesters to notice him?

Light bulb.

He kicked over a chair. It came crashing down.

Yeah! He can still move things!

Castiel started knocking more stuff to the floor. Books, weapons, furniture, and more weapons all hurled into gravity.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Then Sam dove straight for a salt gun.

Oh crap. This is obviously not going to end how Castiel would have liked.

Sam threw Dean a salt gun and seized one for himself. The two brothers fired off countless rounds.

"OOFF!" Cas was hit in the stomach and thrown against the wall.

A second later, he felt a finger poking him in the face.

"Sam! I think it's Cas!" Dean was saying. He felt Castiel's face more. "Yeah! I'm pretty sure of it."

Sam grabbed a notepad off the table along with a pen and handed it to Castiel.

Cas took it.

"Is that you, Cas?" Sam asked.

_Yes. I just got shot with a salt gun. May I leave now?_

"Yup, that's Cas!" Dean smiled. "Sorry. We thought you were a ghost. Thought you left, man,"

_Angel._

"Whatever."

"How are you invisible?" Sam demanded.

Castiel spelled out his encounter with Gabriel.

"Now will you give me your angel-killing-sword-thingy?" Dean asked.

There was a clunk on the floor. The angel-killing-sword-thingy.

Dean grinned and reached for it, but Sam grabbed it before he could touch it. Sam gave it back to Castiel along with a glare that questioned _do you want him to get himself killed?_

"Mrrrow."

Two visible heads turned along with an assumed third invisible one. They had forgotten about the cat. Ren strolled up, rubbed his head against Dean, and went to sit on one of the books that Castiel had knocked off the shelf.

Sam took the book out from under Uncle Ren.

_Angeli._

"Angels," Sam held up the book. He set it back down. The cat pawed open the cover and started licking the fifty ninth page.

"Da vocem hic angelus locutus canere," Sam read.

"You shot me. With a salt gun," Cas's voice come from nowhere. He was still invisible, but now he could speak.

"Whoa. What's a book like that doing here?" Dean asked. He looked it over. "Looks official…"

"It's New Orleans, home of the weird and the creepy. Of course they have books like this," Sam defended.

"Excuse me, but you seemed to have forgotten something," the air said.

Sam and Dean glared at where the voice was coming from, braindead.

"Uh, my visibility?"

"Oh."

"Right."

The three stared down the cat. The cat seemed to shrug and say _hey, I got his voice back. You're on your own on this one._

Uncle Ren flicked his tail and leapt up onto the windowsill. He was out the window and gone into the night before the second was up.

"I like the cat a little more, now," the air told the Winchesters. The brothers nodded.


	18. Chapter 18: Fruit of the Loom

This is just a sucky week. And its only…Dean didn't even know what day it was anymore. The Impala is being abused by two stoners, Castiel is invisible, and who's to blame?

GABRIEL!

That trickster deserves a stake and a half.

Dean was cruising around in the Winchestermobile V for lack of something better to do. Sam said he had to stop moping around and pacing or else he was going to go in cardiac arrest or something. Dean agreed to go out and drive for a while. If he didn't, _Sam_ might have gone into cardiac arrest.

Cas elected to stay with Sam for once. Fine with Dean. Having an angel breath down your collar gets real old real fast.

Dean was sailing over a bridge. He gently moved the steering wheel to turn with the road, but the car didn't respond.

Dean jerked harder. Nothing happened.

"Sonova—"

Dean slammed on the brake. No response from the brake, either. Joy. This is going to end well.

Dean unbuckled himself and threw open the door. He leapt out and rolled. The car kept going. It hit the rail of the bridge, but the barrier didn't even slow it down. It took the rail down and did a belly flop into the Big River.

Dean lay shock still for a moment, collected himself, then calmly proceeded to the edge of the bridge. He looked over the side. Foam was rising up from where the car sank.

_I promised I wouldn't blow it up, _the foam spelled out.

ARE YOU HACKIN FLIPPIN SERIOUS?

Dean kicked the side of the bridge, cussed because he just might have broken his toe to boot, and stalked the three miles back to the hotel.

"What happened to you?" Sam asked when Dean stormed the room.

"I'll tell you what ******* happened! That ******* trickster ******* destroyed another ******* car! And you know what else he did? He ******* admitted to it by spelling it out in ******* FOAM!"

Dean took in a few deep breathes. In. Out. In. Out.

"This entire week's been, well, crap, Dean. Believe me, I know," Sam sympathized. He handed Dean a beer. "It could be worse, though."

"How?" Dean demanded.

Castiel, who was forgotten about for the moment, spoke up. "You could be invisible."

"Yeah, you see? It could be so much worse. You could be invisible like Cas," Sam told him.

Dean sighed. "Yeah. That would suck pretty bad."

Well, I'm sure this is a great ego buster for Castiel.

"Speaking of Cas, I might have found a way to get you visible again," Sam informed the air.

There was no response from Castiel. This pretty much meant, _go on, then._

"Well, there's this fruit called dragon fruit and it isn't _that_ uncommon. They sell it at specialty stores. Anyway, it's not magic but I calculated how it could scientifically—"

"Hey mister collage boy. We don't speak school. Keep it simple?" Dean complained.

"The fruit has…natural chemicals… in it that could—theoretically—get him visible by—"

"You don't need to explain it. We wouldn't understand it anyway. Where's the nearest specialty store?" Dean inquired.

Half an hour later, the three had landed them in the fruit aisle of Berkeley's Farmer's Market.

"Dragon fruit. Dragon fruit. I'm not seeing any dragon fruit," Dean murmured.

"Whoa, dude, these things are insane looking," a familiar voice come from a few yards away. The trio whirled around. Sure enough, Famous and Amos were fingering a pink and green oompa loompa looking fruit.

"What's it called?" Famous asked.

"The sign says 'dragon fruit.'"

The two paused for a beat.

"Epic," they said in unison.

Team Winchester ran at Team Bandwagon and looked into the bin they were hovering over. Sure enough, it was official dragon fruit.

"Oh, hey dude," Famous commented at the familiar sight of Dean and Sam. "Where's your little trench coat amegio?"

"I'm not sure. I can't see him. He's probably behind you. That's the first place I always look," Dean told Famous.

The dragon fruit that was in Amos's hand floated out of it. Amos looked at his now empty hand.

"Bummer," he informed the group.

There was a loud chomp and then a bite mark was formed in the floating fruit.

"Cas! You don't eat the shell…" Sam started but was interrupted.

"GHOST!" A random innocent bystander screamed. She roundhoused where Castiel was standing with her shoulder bag.

"OOMPH!" they heard come from the air. She must have hit home. The dragon fruit rolled away down the aisle.

The woman was still yelling things. She hooked Cas in the side of the face.

Now people were coming to watch the woman beat up the ghost. They all crowded around the fight in a circle chanting things like, "that'll teach you to come messing around in our world!" or "hit him right in his ectoplasm!"

The brothers and band exchanged looks, obviously unsure of what to do.

The woman wacked Cas in what was probably between the legs because the Winchesters and Bandwagon heard him go down like a sack of potatoes, groaning. All four boys cringed at the thought.

"Yuh! Yuh!" The woman yelled as she continued to beat Cas mercilessly with her bag. She took a swing with her high heeled shoe and didn't miss.

"Nuhhh! DEAN!" Castiel was yelling.

Dean was tempted to say his name is Hugo, that he didn't know the ghost, and leave for Utah.

"Take THAT!" the woman gave another firm kick. She then jumped on top of him and started pounding anywhere that she could hit with her tiny fists.

"AHHH!"

"You better scream!"

The woman kneed Castiel where it counted.

Dean cringed. Poor Cas. Hit right where a man doesn't want to get hit twice in the same fifteen seconds.

Now would have been a really good time for one of the brothers to step in and rescue Castiel, but they were too mesmerized by what they were watching. A little 5'1" girl was pumbling a guy who leads angel armies to a pulp. It's amazing why hunters are even needed. Some of these people can hold their own.

"DEAN!"

"What's going on here?" a man wearing a green vest strolled into the fight circle. He was obviously the manager.

"Yuh!" the woman yelled as she planted another blow. "I'm beating up a ghost. Yuh!"

Castiel groaned.

The manager toed Castiel.

"Look, take the fight outside. You're causing a disturbance. And wait for me. I want to see this," the manager ordered.

About ten people swarmed over Castiel and grabbed him. They literally carried him outside. Cas was still moaning Dean's name.

As soon as everyone was gone, Sam grabbed about a dozen pieces of dragon fruit and stuck them in his bag. Then, the brothers followed the violent mob outside.

"JUMP! JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!" the crowd was chanting.

"This doesn't sound good," Dean commented.

The woman was standing a few feet away from where Castiel was assumed to be. She was wearing high heels. Either Castiel better get the strength to stand up and run for his immortal life or he was going to be impaled by a pair of shoes.

Dean broke off at a run toward the crowd. No, he was not going to let his friend get impaled. Only he could impale Cas.

As the woman was about to spring, Dean stepped in and knocked her on her butt.

"What are you doing?" someone asked. "She was about to save us from the ghost!"

Somehow, Dean thought they just wanted to see if ghosts bleed rather than being worried about safety.

Dean stuck out his hand for Cas. He felt Cas take it, and he pulled him up.

"An accomplice!" an old woman yelled. The rest of the circle started yelling too.

Remember how everyone in the circle had been shopping in the fruit aisle?

Yeah.

They all reached into their baskets and grabbed their purchases. Castiel and Dean were firebombed by apples, plums, peaches, pears, dragon fruit, a mega mutant pineapple, and grapes.

"AHHH!" Dean was yelling when he caught up with Sam. He had Cas's arm over his shoulder and was running away from the crowd which was still pelting them with fruit.

"COME ON!" Sam screamed.

The three wished more than ever that they had a car. Dean personally wondered if Gabriel planned this.

They were chased for a few blocks, but soon the crowd gave up.

"I'm surprised that a ghost can survive here," Sam commented to Dean. Sam was now helping Dean hold Castiel up. "Where'd Famous and Amos go?"

"I don't know. They disappeared into the sunset."

"If only."

"I know."

The brothers looked at their fallen friend.

"That girl must have hit him hard," Sam noted.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Did you see when she….Sam!"

Sam jumped. Dean pointed at his shoulder. There was a hand on it. Castiel's hand. They could see Castiel's hand!

Whoo hoo! Now he's a floating hand!

"Looks like it worked, but you are going to need to eat a lot more dragon fruit," Dean told Cas.

Cas groaned.


	19. In Between the Chapters: Times Picayune

THE TIMES-PICAYUNE SATURDAY

GHOST SENT BACK TO OTHER SIDE WITH GOOD OLD FASHIONED BEATING

Yesterday, local pedestrian Angelica La'Pirre noticed a mysterious floating fruit in Berkeley's Farmer's Market. She heroically used the use of her shoulder bag to bring the ectoplasmic enity down.

"I just had to do something," La'Pirre explained.

La'Pirre fought the ghost off until a ghost accomplice came and helped his partner in crime. The ghost accomplice seized the wounded ghost, and vanished.

"We tried to keep them in this world to eliminate them with our fruit," elderly pedestrian Molly Harper told _The Times-Picayune_.

The ghost accomplice has been unofficially identified as William Robertson, a man who was run over in the very same street that the fight was in over fifty years ago. New information and details will be on their way. See inside for personal eye witness accounts about the Berkeley's Farmer's Market haunting.


	20. Chapter 19: Catscratch

By Saturday afternoon, Castiel was almost visible. His hands and head were normal, but the rest of him was border lining a bit on see-through transparency.

Dean was reaching eligibility for the local asylum. Sam was exhausted and would yawn rather loudly every minute or so. Everything seemed so good Sunday night. Now five cars, two fights, and a trickster later, the boys were worn out.

They only had to live the rest of Saturday, all through Sunday, and survive until Monday morning. Then, hopefully, they can leave Louisiana in the Impala and never so much as look back.

Now the boys had parted ways with Uncle Ren up until this point. This is the part when Ren slinks into the window unnoticed and catches the boys by surprise.

Dean was sitting stiffly on the floor watching the TV with a bowl of cheese puffs in his lap. He was cleaning his gun. Suddenly, he felt something heavy drop down on his shoulder.

"AHHH!" he wailed. Cheese puffs went flying in every direction. It was like it was raining cheese puffs. That bowl must have been bottomless there were so many cheese puffs. They were like a cheese puff army. The cheese puffs finally stopped falling and Dean shot off a round.

"HSSST!" Ren hissed.

"Ren?"

"MROW!"

"Oh, sorry."

All four characters turned at the noise of someone trumping up the stairs. There was a sharp rap at the door.

Everyone hesitated. Maybe if they were very silent, whoever it was would just go away…

"I know you're in there!" a voice crunched through the door.

Sam sighed, got up off of his bed, and proceeded to the door. He looked out the peephole.

"Manager," he mouthed.

Sam opened the door to the frowning face of the manager.

"Look, buddy. This is the like the third time that I've heard shooting. I was going to let the first two go—that's my policy—but if you don't watch it, you're going to attract the cops and I don't want no cops around here, got it? Look at that!" the manager pointed to a couple of spots on the wall where bullets had impacted the brick. "So I think…YOW!"

Uncle Ren had sunken his little cat teeth into the manager's leg and it looked like he wasn't letting go.

"CALL HIM OFF! CALL HIM OFF!"

"Uh…Uncle Ren…?"Dean called. He honestly didn't want to call him off.

For the record, Uncle Ren moves for no man.

The cat seemed to bite down harder. Blood was starting to soak into the manager's pant leg.

"GIVE ME ONE OF THEM GUNS! AHH! OWW! SHOOT! HURRY!"

When no one moved, the manager dove for a gun while trying to shake Ren off in the process. You can imagine how this went, considering Sam couldn't get this particular cat off a car seat with a crowbar.

The cat just bit down harder.

"DIE!" the manager yelled.

He fired off a round. The cat dodged it like a ninja—just like how he dodged Dean's bullet. The Winchesters took cover. Castiel looked somewhat amused at the entire scene.

Ren began to scramble up the manager's pant leg.

"OOHHEE!" the manager squealed at the cat climbed higher. "GET HIM OFF! HELP! CALL 911! CALL ANIMAL CONTROL! CALL THE FBI! CALL THE AIR FORCE! DO SOMETHING!"

He shot off a few more rounds. They thought he might have accidentally shot himself in his leg.

Sam and Dean stayed right where they were, safe under one of the beds.

The manager turned to Castiel. He blinked at the semi transparent form.

_Thud._

The Winchesters and Castiel slowly proceeded toward the fallen man. They crowded around him. Uncle Ren dug his way out of the mass of clothing and stood next to Castiel.

The man had fainted.

"Well, that was interesting," Cas commented.

The other three nodded in agreement.

"Do you think if we carried his body downstairs, when he woke up he wouldn't remember a thing?" Sam suggested.

"Worth a try."

The guys left the manager on the lobby couch.


	21. Chapter 20: Fireflies and Bedbugs

**Whoa. Chapter Twenty. I should probably end this soon…**

All four of the guys—Sam, Dean, Ren, and Castiel—went out for pizza after expertly disposing of the manager's fainted body.

Sam opted to go get another rental. Renting had become a regular occurrence. Ren wanted to go with him. The group split into two and parted ways. This left Castiel and Dean together.

They stayed in the restaurant a little while longer.

Cas was silent for a long time. Then he spoke.

"Could you please explain to me what a 'voice mail' is?" Cas whipped out his phone. "It kept asking me to say my name…"

Dean thought Sam mentioned something weird about Cas's voicemail.

"Dude!" a voice came suddenly from behind them. "You're trench coat amegio is, like, back!"

Dean whirled around. Sure enough, there stood Famous and Amos. Great. When Bandwagon is around, bad things happen. Like lightning bad.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and turned back to Castiel.

"Uh…Dean? What are you…?"

"Waiting to be struck by lightning and die tragically or something," Dean replied simply.

"Oh…is this…is this a normal occurrence for mortals?"

"Yup. This is the bee's knees, Cas."

Once Dean was confident that lightning wasn't going to strike, he peeked open an eye. All three guys were staring at him.

"So, you get your car day after tomorrow," Amos mentioned.

Dean lit up a little. "Yeah. This week is almost over."

Little sigh of relief.

"YOU!" came a female voice from behind them. Cas jumped in his seat. Strange. He then attempted to make himself as small as possible and hide under the table. Dean shot him a confused look. Cas shot him the _shush!_ sign.

"Castiel, I know you're under there!" A blonde haired woman strolled down the aisle and looked under the table.

Cas forced a small smile, "Uh, hello, Raquel."

She gave him a big fat sarcastic smirk back, "Hey, Cas."

She grabbed him by the trench coat and pulled him out from under the table.

"You two know each other?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Cas squeaked.

"Uh, dudes, you're like, making a scene," Amos commented. Dean looked around. Everyone in the restaurant was staring them down.

"Uh, check please!" Dean told the nearest waiter.

"Dean's right. Can we talk outside?" Castiel suggested. Raquel tightened her grip, but then released him with a sigh.

After they paid for the food, the two stoners, the two angels, and Dean strolled outside. The sun was setting. Hopefully Sammy would be back before Raquel strangled Cas.

"So?" Dean questioned.

"This one," Raquel pointed stiff armed to Castiel, "abandoned us. He has a war to fight, and he's down here eating pizza."

"Oh, that's kinda my fault. I maybe mentioned something about dragging him by his wings back here if he tried to leave," Dean told her nonchalantly.

"And you feel threatened by a mortal?" Raquel demanded, a glare directed at Castiel.

"Have you _met_ me, Buttercup?" Dean smirked.

"Enough of this," Raquel drew her angel-killing-sword-thingy. "Sorry Cas, but someone responsible has to lead the army."

"I don't want to hurt you," Castiel informed her.

"Trust me, you'll be dead before you can."

Dean felt around on him. No angel-killing-sword-thingy magically materialized. Darn. Guess Castiel is on his own.

"Dude, now would be like, the most amazing, epic time to try out those shurikens that we always carry in our shoes," Amos whispered to Famous.

"Totally, dude."

Dean looked over at Famous and Amos. For some reason, they were fiddling around in their shoes. Idiot stoners.

Raquel moved in on Castiel. Castiel had drawn his angel-killing-sword-thingy. They were circling each other like mountain lions.

"You don't have to do this," Castiel told her.

"Oh, but you've proven to me that I do," she replied. She lunged for Castiel. Castiel sidestepped and parried. He attempted to repost, but was to slow. The sword was too short to get anywhere very fast.

Suddenly, a glint of metal flew out of nowhere.

"AHH!" Raquel exclaimed, clutching her chest. She ripped the piece of metal out that had impacted her—one of those ninja throwing stars. What are they called? Shurikens.

More kept raining down on her. It took them all a minute to realize that the stars were coming from Famous and Amos. They seemed to have a countless number of them—they just kept on coming and coming like cheese puffs.

Raquel soon showed a very close resemblance to a tack board.

Raquel started to hobble over to the Bandwagon (hobbling because she had been hit in various places in the legs, too). She reached an arm out to grab them, but then…

HONK! WHAM!

The four were silent for a moment.

"Dude, like, what just happened, man?" Famous asked.

"I think Sam just ran over her with the Winchestermobile VI," Dean replied. He proceeded to the driver's window. Sam was beaming, along with Ren who was riding shotgun.

Sam cranked down the window. "Did I get her?"

Dean looked at the big smear on the pavement. "I think you got her, Sammy."

Castiel shook his head. They only got her vessel. Oh well. He would deal with her later. He didn't want to rain on the Winchester's parade.

They waved goodbye to the Bandwagon, and Cas and Dean hopped aboard. They drove back to the hotel.

They began walking inside when they noticed something.

"Hey, Sammy, isn't that your bag?" Dean asked, pointing to a tan sack on the small hotel lawn.

Sam wandered over, picked it up, and opened it. "Yeah. What's it doing out here?"

Dean had 'confused' written all over his face.

"Hey, there's mine," Dean plucked up his own, brushing the grass off of it. They looked around. There were several things strewn about the lawn. And all of them were theirs.

The brothers exchanged a look, than took off at top speed toward their room. They took the stairs two at a time.

There was a note on the door.

_Dear former residents,_

_ Due to your destruction of property and rabid cat, I hereby evict you from your room. Yes. Hotels can evict people. Trust me, I looked it up._

_ -Manager J.R. Stonewall_

Dean was muttering quick, unintelligible words. Sam was fearing for his life. He didn't exactly consider anything in a mile radius of Dean to be safe at the moment.

Sam slowly backed out and went back downstairs to Castiel and Uncle Ren.

Ren was dragging a knapsack with his little cat teeth, and Castiel was plucking toothbrushes out of the dirt. Between the two of them, they had picked up most of the brother's things.

"We've been evicted," Sam explained to Castiel.

Castiel looked at Sam like he had just admitted to secretly being an angel.

"Evicted means thrown out, Cas," Sam explained.

"Oh."

Dean came stomping out. Sam sighed.

"Looks like we need a new hotel, or we are sleeping in the car tonight," Dean growled. You could tell he was really trying to stay under control. Well, at least he's not acting all calm or pacing. That's when people really have to watch their backs.

After a little house hunting, the brothers found out that every hotel in the city was booked.

"Mardi Gras is coming up," Sam explained.

"Crap to Mardi Gras," Dean muttered.

A black impala whizzed past them. From the back seat, Sam tapped Dean's shoulder.

"No."

"You have a better idea?"

"Yes! Well..okay…not really."

The Winchestermobile VI followed the Impala. Once Famous and Amos got out, the Winchesters, Castiel, and Uncle Ren exited their vehicle.

"Hey, Famous and Amos?" Sam began with his puppy dog face. "Would you mind if we, uh, bunked with you for tonight? We were kinda evicted from our hotel…"

"Dude," Amos elbowed Famous. "That would be so rad! Sure dudes. What's ours is yours, man, my amegios."

The Winchesters lugged their stuff up to Famous and Amos's room. Team Winchester gets the floor with the exception of Ren, who decided to sleep on the foot of Amos's bed.

"We should, like, stay up late telling scary stories," Famous flicked off the lights and somehow produced a flashlight. He shined it up at his face. "I'll start."

"What are they, twelve?" Dean demanded under his breath.

"Just play along. At least we have somewhere to sleep with a roof," Sam murmured back.

"Once upon a time," Famous began.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Dean complained. "You can't start a scary story 'once upon a time'! It doesn't work!"

"Okay, fine dude. Calm thy inner self. On a dark and lonely night, there was, like, this princess, and—"

"There's a princess in a horror story," Dean repeated.

"Yeah. Shush it, little man. Well, big man. You're all taller than me with the exception of Mr. Trench Coat. What are you, an accountant?" Famous asked Castiel.

"Uh…"

"Anyway, this princess ate this horrible _poison apple! _Duh duh duh!"

"He's making his own soundtrack," Dean wimpered to Sam. "And he thinks Disney cartoons qualify as scary."

"Look, how about we tell one," Sam gestured toward Dean to show who counted as "we."

"Like, go for it man," Famous said.

"Yeah, like, totally," Amos encouraged.

"Um, alright. Anyone know what a Windigo is?"

And so, Sam and Dean retold their Windigo adventure. Unfortunately, this backfired majorly because Famous and Amos were too scared to sleep after that so they had to tell more and more of their adventures. They were halfway through when Gabriel threw them into TV world when the sun started coming up.

"Dude, that was, like, epic. You two should, like, write books," Famous complimented.

The brothers nodded, distantly aware of what people were saying. They didn't get a wink of sleep last night. In fact, the only one who did was Uncle Ren.

Uncle Ren landed himself in front of Dean and stretched.

"Braggart," Dean mumbled.

"You guys are, like, welcome to stay tonight, too. After all, you, like, have to stay for Mardi Gras tomorrow," Amos told them.

"Yeah, if we can't find a hotel," Sam lied. He knew there was no way that they were coming back here. They were running out of stories, too. They would sleep on a park bench before returning.

One more day. One more hacking day to survive.


	22. Chapter 21: Sunday, Bloody Sunday

**Sorry this took forever. I suck at time management. I know. Leave me alone.**

Sunday passed agonizingly slowly. Sam had suggested that they go on one of those fake ghost tours. Dean reluctantly agreed. Uncle Ren slinked off to who knows where.

The three guys waltzed into the tour shack. The theme to Ghostbusters was blaring in the surround sound.

_Who ya gonna call?_

_ GHOSTBUSTERS!_

There was an old woman manning the counter. She looked like she was wearing a table cloth and more jewelry than structurally possible for her frail little body.

"What can-a I-a do for-a you?" Great. One of those people that add the random "a"'s to their words.

"What are your different types of tours and rates?" Sam flashed her a pleasant grin.

"Well, we-a have-a zombie tours, we-a have-a ghost tours, we-a have-a _ghoul _tours—now remember youngings, ghosts and-a ghouls are-a not-a de same-a thing—we-a have voodoo tours, we-a have-a witch tours, we-a have-a—"

"And your rates?" Dean interrupted.

The woman shot him a glare for disturbing her rant. "Well, we-a do-a have this one-a tour. On-a special today. Covers de mysterious death of-a Madam Beauxadox. Very popular with-a everyone."

"How much?" Dean asked.

"A hundred."

"USD?"

"USD."

"Well, that's not so bad, if a hundred covers all of us," Sam stated to Dean.

"Ah! No, no, no, no, no. You-a misunderstand. A hundred. Each."

"Each?" Dean growled. "What do you got for twenty each?"

The table cloth woman began typing a sequence into her computer.

"It appears dere is-a one in half hour. Called "De Ghost's Throats" and-a it-a is-a twenty each."

Half an hour later, the guys met up with their tour group. Besides them, there were only a few other people. A young couple who looked like they could hold their own in the world, and a family with a teenage daughter and about a ten year old son.

The tour bus screeched to a stop about two feet away from Sam.

"That lunatic—he could have killed you!" Dean exclaimed angrily.

A rather chubby man with bushy honey colored hair tromped out of the bus. He had wicked horned glasses and his honey-hair stood up in all directions giving him the appearance that he got in an ally fight with a tornado and lost. The scariest part of it, though, was he was dressed exactly like Cas.

The trench-coated tour guide strolled over to Castiel.

"Looking snazzy sharp there, my muffin man," the tour guide winked at Cas. Castiel had that hobo-in-train-light look. He clearly didn't understand a word that the guide had said.

Dean blew out a sigh. This ghost tour thing was a bad idea.

"Listen up, my little possum pups. My name is Robert Erlanger Edwin Jude John Paul Ulyssus Justin the Fourth, but you can call me Bossman. We're going to board that there neat-o bus and spot ourselves a little ectoplasmic scumberries!" Bossman threw up his arms in enthusiasm.

The rest of the tour group stared at him. Dean looked around at the other members of the parade. They all had mixed emotions on their faces. Dean was pretty sure that the majority wasn't positive.

The guide boarded the bus. The little mafia followed after him, slightly reluctant of the madman behind the wheel.

The bus looked like something Bossman won from the Botox Twins in a poker game.

Half an hour into the tour, they were still cramped up in the piece of scrap metal that Bossman affectionately called the "Yellow Submarine." Dean guessed it would have made sense if the bus was yellow, but since it was green…

"And that, my pie poppers, that, is the family cemetery of the Lionsgates. That is where Miss. Graveyard was dragged to her wretched death in the middle of the night—BY A ZOMBIE!" The fact that it was a sunny day kinda ruined the effect he was going for.

"Oh, please," Dean whined. "Where's the gun?"

"Dean—" Sam began.

"Hey, uh, Bossman?" Dean called up front.

"Yes, Fluffikins?"

"…Uh… yeah, okay. Um, who saw this girl get dragged down by a zombie?"

"Well, no one saw her, Jack in the Box. It was a dark and lonely night."

"Well, then, um, how do you know what happened to her?" Dean questioned.

Bossman opened his mouth, and then closed it. He opened it again, than snapped it shut again. It gave him the illusion of a goldfish.

After about another hour and a half of just plain driving around, they finally were able to get out of the Yellow Submarine and actually go into a 'haunted' house.

They opened a door. Plastic spiders were tapped to the wall with Scotch. Some of that fake cobweb stuff was everywhere. Some chip crumbs left a trail on the floor.

"Come on, my homie hobbits! Let's follow this nifty little trail of chips! It looks ectoplasmic to me…"

Dean's eye started twitching.

The little posse all huddled together in a mob and followed the chips into the kitchen where there was a plastic hand and some fake blood.

"Lame," the teenage girl muttered.

The little boy focused on his Nintendo as his parents oohed and ahhed over the stuff in the house. The couple was looking like they were seriously considering asking for a refund.

"You popsicle pennies go that way," he told Sam, Dean, Castiel, and the couple. "Us hippie hugs will go this way," the guide gestured toward the family of four to show who 'us' was.

Dean's face lit up a little. No insane guide! Yippie!

Dean's group started traveling the way they had been directed. When Dean turned around, he saw that Sam was already in deep conversation with the couple. Darn people skills.

This left Dean with Cas as someone to talk to.

"So," Dean began.

". . ."

"Uh, nice décor, huh?"

"I personally find it quite depressing," Castiel replied simply.

"Oh."

So ends the intriguingly intense conversation.

Suddenly, out of nowhere it came. It flung out hardly faster than a drugged snail, and looked about as real as the plastic hand in the kitchen. A huge figure emerged out of the darkness, with that fake water vapor fog crap floating around it. Sam thought it was supposed to be a ghost. It looked like some kind of giant emo stuffed animal.

WOOSH! RRRIIIPPP!

Dean looked to his side. No Castiel. Dean looked back to the figure. Dean had located the angel. The angel had a passenger in his hands.

The rest of the group looked from the now headless overstuffed animal and then back to Cas and the overstuffed head in his hands. He must have freaked out and completely took the head off.

It took a good ten seconds for everything to be chewed, swallowed, and digested, but then everyone burst out into a cheer.

"That's the best thing that's happened this whole tour!" The woman exclaimed. Sam identified her as 'Jade' for Dean. He was also informed that the husband is 'Jacob.'

Jacob came waltzing up to the thing. He took one of its arms in his hand.

"I won't tell if you won't," he told the group.

Dean made the sign of the locking of the lips and the throwing away of the key. The rest of the group nodded in agreement.

RRRIIIPPP!

There went an arm.

So the semi violent group set to the task of ripping up the dummy. Mature protesting to a cruddy tour? Not entirely. Fun? Heck, yes!

Soon, the thing was demolished.

They met back up with the 'hippie hugs' then boarded the bus to go home. The sun was setting. Team Winchester needed a hotel. They couldn't survive another night at the Bandwagon's.

Sadly, twenty one hotels later, none had vacancy. Mardi Gras was tomorrow.

"There is no way I'm going back to Famous and Amos's," Dean protested.

"Looks like we sleep on park benches, then."

Sam wasn't kidding. He drove the Winchestermobile VI right up to the nearest park, got out, and laid down on the nearest park bench.

Dean sighed. He got out some spare blankets from the trunk, handed one to Cas, draped one over Sam, and kept one for himself. Dean found a suitable looking park bench with the minimal amount of bird poopage. He lay down and looked up at the stars. Maybe this wasn't so bad. He could get used to sleeping on park benches, looking at the night sky. Granted, this wouldn't work very well in the winter, and—

"GET the HELL off of MY BENCH!" Came a gravelly voice from behind him.

There stood a hobo.

Dean could tell he was a hobo because he looked everything a hobo should look. No shower for months, covered in everything from soot to syrup, yellowing teeth, cross eyed, holey clothes and shoes, pipe in his mouth. He was the perfect image of a cardboard box dweller.

Dean sat up quickly, which made him a little dizzy. "Your bench?"

"Yeah," the man growled. "Everyone knows that this here bench belongs to 'Ol Red-Eye Rooney.

Rooney grabbed Dean by the jacket and flung him off the bench, blanket and all. The hobo lay down. Before Dean could get back up, Rooney was already snoring.

Oh, the hard life of a cardboard box dweller.

Sam was sitting up on his park bench, surveying what just happened. Castiel was still standing where Dean left him, a glazed, confused look over his eyes.

Dean trooped over to Rooney and gave him a shove.

The man just about as hard to move as Uncle Ren.

After about ten minutes of fruitless trying, Dean stormed over to Sam, who was peeking out at him from under his blanket. He grabbed the angel by the sleeve on the way over.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but then a clap of thunder pierced the sky.

"Oh, come on!" Dean yelled angrily.

Water was starting to sprinkle Team Winchester and Rooney. Rooney didn't move. He just kept on sleeping.

"I hope that's Gabriel," Dean muttered.

"So sorry to disappoint you."

Dean whirled around. He had been doing a lot of whirling around lately. If this week didn't end soon, he was going to get a permanent head injury.

His hopes of the voice coming from anyone but Gabriel were slashed. There the archangel stood, looking quite pleased with himself under a dry flowered poncho and an umbrella.

"What do you want?" Dean was blinking furiously. Water was dripping off his hair, down his face, ricocheting off his eyebrows, and parading into his eyes by the liter.

"I just wanted to…uh…_gloat_…just for a bit."

"Cas, give me your angel-killing-sword-thingy!" Dean ordered.

"Oh, come now, Cas. You wouldn't kill your own brother, would you? Besides, I was the one who introduced you to hamburgers…"

Clink.

Dean picked up the angel-killing-sword-thingy.

"Well. Crap. Gotta fly," Gabriel was gone in a flutter of wing beats.

"You know," Dean said, turning to his musketeers. "Everyone says that angel-killing-sword-thingies don't kill angels. People do."

The two patiently waited for him to continue.

"But I'm pretty sure that the angel-killing-sword-thingy helps."


	23. Chapter 22: Happy Mardi Gras, Raquel!

**Okay. I'm going to hacking finish this. After over twenty chapters, this is going to end. I promise. Besides, if I make this any longer, no one's going to read it…**

**Think I should go out with a bang?**

Dean woke up under Sam and on top of Castiel.

He knew the entire 'sleeping in the Winchestermobile VI' plan was crap.

He looked around at the men who sandwiched him between them. They were both out cold. Castiel claims not to sleep—something about just having some 'restful meditation' or something once in a while.

Well, crap to you, Cas. You're snoring.

Gently pushing Sam away from him, Sam rolled over into a position where Dean was free. Dean slowly got up off of Cas, careful not to disturb the angel. It was like playing pick up sticks.

Dean stumbled out into the light, glad to be free of the car and its occupants. Distant music floated into his ears.

People were getting ready for Mardi Gras.

Dean hit the first food selling place he could find. A Buskin Bakery. Once inside, he strode up to the counter, ordered a dozen donuts, grabbed his little baggie and strode back to the Winchestermobile VI. He passed a construction site where they were working on an old building. Right then, he thought nothing of it.

When he opened the car door, he didn't know Sam was in a position so that he was leaning up against it. Sam came tumbling out, screeching like a banchee. The millisecond that Sam make a touchdown with his face onto the pavement, Castiel came flying out and landed on top of him. The two struggled around, groggy, dazed, and confused. They were mumbling threats and protection spells. Finally, Cas and Sam seemed to process what happened.

"You guys are awesome, you know that?" Dean commented with a smirk. The guys replied with a gutsy-full-out-squinty-eyed-glare.

Dean handed out the donuts, and Team Winchester sat on the hood of the Winchestermobile VI to eat them. Castiel claims that he doesn't have to eat, either. However, he seemed to be enjoying that chocolate donut, irritated or not.

"Hey, anyone see Ren?" Sam asked suddenly.

Cas and Dean shook their heads. The group pondered this for a moment.

"Now that you mention it, I haven't seen that cat since last night," Dean had the projectile donut pieces thing going as he talked. Suddenly, Dean's face lit up like a Christmas lantern. "Let's go get my car!"

"The deal is in force until six tonight," Cas murmured, lost in chocolaty happiness.

There was silence.

"WHAT?"

Silence broken.

"Didn't you read the contract?" Cas asked.

"No, when did you?"

"When he showed it to me."

Dean muttered something colorful about trickster angels.

"Look, Dean, we've survived a week. We can survive, what, nine more hours?" Sam was trying his luck at comforting his brother.

Ren came out of nowhere and hopped up on the hood next to them. Dean offered the cat some donut. The cat stared at it.

"Come on," Dean prompted.

The cat wouldn't eat it. It wasn't like Uncle Ren to refuse food. Team Winchester learned that the hard way.

Castiel was looking at the cat in a strange, horrified way. His donut was frozen halfway to his mouth.

Sam looked from the cat, to Castiel, then back to the cat. "Ren?" Sam asked, confused. "You…okay?"

And then it happened. Imagine Cujo in cat form, multiply it by ten, and add two and you would understand what half as vicious as this cat was is.

The thing sprang at Cas, giving a mighty yowl.

"AHHHH!"

"MROOWRMROOWROOWROOW!"

The brothers stared at the bizarre scene before them. It closely resembled one those cat maulings in the cartoons where the cat is a blur as it scratches off the victim's face.

Cas was still screaming his lungs out. The cat was still yowling at the top of its little cat voice.

"I'll shoot it," Dean planned aloud while striding to the trunk.

"Dude, that thing's on _Cas's face_!" Sam plucked the gun out of Dean's hands.

"It won't kill him."

"Dude!"

"It won't!"

And so, the brothers watched the mauling for a beat more.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, another cat flew into vision. It was Ren—and it took out Cujo Ren.

Cas stood there shocked and mesmerized as he watched the two cats duel. They bit and scratched and clawed until finally, one was victorious. Sadly, they moved around too much and were too identical to tell wither good Ren or Cujo Ren won.

Castiel was spread-eagled on the pavement, his chest rising and falling heavily. His eyes were wide. The remainder of his donut was smeared across him, and his mouth was opened in a silent scream.

The thing is, Ren isn't exactly a unique looking cat. He looked just like any other stray. The more that Sam examined the two cats, though, he realized the difference that they had. Ren had grey eyes; Cujo Ren had amber. Cujo Ren had a black speckle on his back foot; Ren didn't. Sam was able to realize that the real Ren was the victor. Sam shared his knowledge with the rest of his team.

"Hey Cas, do you, uh, know that sack of rabies?" Dean asked, nodding toward Cujo Ren while standing over Castiel.

"Raquel," Cas squinted in pain.

"Sam ran her over with the—"

"Her _vessel_ was run over by Sam."

"Oh. Whoops."

Dean pulled Castiel up. The three piled into the Winchestermobile VI, leaving Cujo behind. Dean got behind the wheel. "So what do you guys want to do for the next nine hours?"

Ren mewed.

"I don't speak cat, Ren," Dean complained.

Uncle Ren rolled his eyes.

"We could take another tour," Sam suggested.

"NO!"

"Oh, um, uh, we could—"

"We could go find some masks for Mardi Gras?" Cas cut in.

"Let's not. How's about we go eat?"

"We just ate, Dean," Sam protested.

"I eat when I'm upset. I'm one of those comfort eaters."

Throughout the day, Dean found himself looking up into the sky, staring at the sun positions. It was slowly creeping above the world, nearing the west with every passing minute. Dean also stole frequent glances at the digital clock mounted on his cell phone. The nine hours seemed to crawl by, passing him like days. At five twenty, Sam, Dean, and Castiel found themselves in the middle of Mardi Gras.

People were shouting, drinking, laughing, and singing. Floats went by like a never ending ribbon of flaming and bright colors. Everything around him made Deans head hurt; he just wanted his Impala so he could leave.

Castiel, especially, was beaming at the sight. He commented regularly on the rich senses that he was experiencing, and asked even more questions than usual.

"Is it customary to pour a bottle of hot sauce into a glass of liquor on Mardi Gras?" Cas had asked while pointing out a rather overweight man who was pouring some flaming hot into his beer while being surrounded by a small posse yelling 'chug it, chug it!'

"The bee's knees, Cas," Dean recycled his old answer.

Cas opened his mouth again. "I had been meaning to ask you about that. Are you sure that bees have knees?"

"Everything has knees, Cas."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup."

"Okay…"

Sam had bought them all masks from a street vendor. Everyone took one at random. Somehow, Dean ended up with one that resembled a rainbow, while Castiel received a dark looking bird one. Sam frowned, switched the masks, stepped back to admire his Mr. Fix-It work. He grinned in satisfaction. Sam then secured on his own green mask that looked like a goblin.

Then it happened. Dean heard the rush of something whizzing through the air. He whirled around. The flying object was almost upon him—he would have no time to move. His eyes widened as it grew closer, then squeezed tight, bracing for the impact.

BAM!

Dean flew into Sam. Sam flew into Castiel. Castiel flew into Amos who had suddenly materialized. Amos flew into Famous who had also suddenly materialized. Then Famous flew into Gabriel, another person that had also suddenly materialized.

Dean got up, rubbed his head, then picked up the Mardi Gras beads that had hit him and started the whole thing. He looked around. It seemed as though, because the crowd was so close together, he had started a domino effect. Everyone around him was falling to the floor, squealing and screaming.

Well, crap. This is why things like Mardi Gras are impractical.

The domino effect was multiplying. Now, people were falling at about a rate of ten at once. Crowds were dropping at once. Finally, the effect reached the end of the crowd.

Towards the beginning of the chapter—let's see how good you were paying attention! Whoo-hoo!—I mentioned a certain construction site. This particular construction site's crane thing happened to be in the way of the domino effect.

The people had multiplied to an incountable number falling at once. They slammed into the crane. I'm not talking hard. I'm taking ridiculously hard.

The crane was flimsy metal connected to a rope that was connected to a large metal beam. The metal beam jerked to the side and slammed into the building.

This was an old historic building that was worth a lot of money, by the way.

The beam took out the second floor, causing the third and forth to topple into the first. Somehow, during all of this, the third floor had caught on fire. The fire began spreading throughout the rest of the building. All of Mardi Gras stared and watched at the fireball. It was like the Winchestermobile fireballs only about eighty five times bigger.

CHING! CHING! CHING! CHING! CHING! CHING!

The clock struck six.

"Well. Time to go," Dean told his crew nonchalantly. Dean located the Impala without difficulty.

Then, out of nowhere it came. This time, it wasn't just Mardi Gras beads. It was…

…Cujo Ren Raquel.

"AHH!" Cas screamed as the claws made contact with his face. He reached into his sleeve and stabbed the little cat with the angel-killing-sword-thingy. Light radiated from the cat's eyes as Cas through Raquel aside. A black wing pattern was burnt into pavement surrounding the cat.

"Why didn't you ever do that before? I mean, really, Cas. How many times have you been attacked by cats this little trip?" Dean demanded.

Cas narrowed his eyes but seemed to decide that it wasn't worth trying to defend himself over. He exhaled. "Bye."

Castiel was gone in a flutter of wingbeats.

Uncle Ren mewed and rubbed up against the brother's legs.

"You leaving too, Ren?" Sam asked.

The cat winked, then—get this—vanished.

"Knew that cat wasn't normal," Dean muttered as he swung open the car door.

The brothers headed north, leaving the city in flames behind them.

**EPILOGUE** : THE TIMES-PICAYUNE

THREE MEN CAUSED THE ENTIRE CITY TO FALL. RUMORED TO BE THE BERKELEY'S FARMER'S MARKET GHOST AND HIS ACCOMPLICE, ALONG WITH AN UNIDENTIFIED GOBLIN

Yesterday, the Berkeley's Farmer's Market ghost used a huge radiation of ectoplasmic energy to cause every person attending the Mardi Gras celebration to fall to the ground. Because of this, we lost a grand historic building. Anyone with any information about this ectoplasmic enitity should call** 504-867-5309 **immediately. More details inside.

* * *

><p><em><strong>If you love the trickster, sign the petition to save Gabriel!<strong>_ .


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